Kidnapped
by Dizzybunny
Summary: Whilst attending a conference, Molly is kidnapped. Sherlock tries to find her, but he's out of his comfort zone. Lestrade and Watson will also assist. Warnings: Some violence towards Molly.
1. Chapter 1

Kidnapped

Disclaimer. All characters belong to Mr Moffatt, Mr Gatiss and Mr Doyle. All are loved by me.

Time Period: set sometime after TRF, when Sherlock has returned.

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Molly cried out in agony as her face hit the wall, and she slumped to the floor, desperately trying to draw breath. She could taste the iron in her mouth and even dizzy from the pain she knew she was bleeding. She hoped it was something as simple as a split lip.

Roughly, she was hauled to her feet, her hands trying to keep her face away from further punishment against the rough plaster wall. Her assailant threw her towards the small camp bed arranged in one corner of the room for her. He missed and she landed awkwardly on her right hip, causing her to cry out again in pain.

"Enough Kasuf," a male voice called from the door way. "She won't be of use to us if she can't work."

Kasuf, Molly's attacker, reluctantly backed away. "Yes, Father. But she should know her place. She spoke without permission."

Molly used the camp bed to drag herself upright, and stood unsteadily, favouring her undamaged left hip and leg. She wanted to scream, but she also knew it was futile.

Kasuf's father tutted. "Dr Hooper. It is unfortunate for you that the West continues to educate women and elevate them to positions above their station in life. If you had learned your place, and remained at home, you would not be in this situation now. However, I will forgive your mistake this time. I will not a second. For the last time, I warn you. You may only speak to the women freely, but never to my sons without permission. Do you understand?"

Molly kept her eyes on the floor, and nodded slowly, her head still recovering from it's impact with the wall. He had changed clothes from earlier this morning during her abduction, but he was still an old man, looking about 70 years old, and walking with the aid of stick.

"Good. Now Dr Hooper, I ask you, and you may answer, how does my son Kamil fair?"

Molly swallowed the blood in her mouth, hoping to lubricate her throat. "Not good. I've stopped the bleeding, but he has lost a lot of blood. I am also concerned about infection. He really should have proper hospital treatment."

"You will treat him here." The old man watched her closely. "You have something else to say?"

Molly nodded warily.

"Speak then."

"Have you been able to obtain the antibiotics and other drugs I requested? He is going to need them to prevent an infection, and for pain management."

"You should have them within the hour." He indicated for Kasuf to leave the room. "Return to Kamil, Dr Hooper, and ensure he recovers. Your continued good health relies on it."

Both men left the room, and she heard the key turning in the lock. Molly's bravery faded rapidly. Wearily she looked over the far side of the room, where another man, Kamil, lay on a slightly better bed than her camp bed. She limped over to check him.

Molly stared at the man, committing his features to memory. He looked a lot like his father. She hadn't had much time to consider the man himself, since she had arrived in the hell hole. Carefully she laid her hand on his forehead. Warm but not unduly so, at least so far.

She lowered her gaze to look at the dressings covering his stomach wound. Blood had soaked through the gauze. She winced slightly in sympathy for Kamil, as she removed the dressing and looked at her handiwork. The wound was red and sore. She had done her best with the tools they had available, but there was really only so much she could do with the limited medical equipment they had provided and the even more limited surgical assistance. Operating with basic equipment, no anaesthetic, no antibiotics and in extremely unsanitary conditions.

Several of Kamil's female relatives had been assigned to help her, but only one, Kamil's sister Lydia, had managed to actually be of use. With the aid of Lydia, several kitchen knives, and even at one point a soup ladle, she had managed to find and extract the bullet, and stop the bleeding. Her improvised sutures of superglue and sewing thread rather than surgical thread were holding for the moment. As long as Kamil didn't move too much. But he had lost a lot of blood.

She had tried explaining this to Lydia and the other women, but they had been ordered out of the room once the operation had finished. Lydia managed to whisper she'd be back later. That was an hour ago.

Molly quickly replaced Kamil's soiled dressing with a fresh one, and taped it back into place. Limping back to her camp bed, she tried to assess her own injuries. Face – hurts like hell, but probably no bones broken. Inside cheek – bitten, but survivable. Hip – badly bruised. One of Mrs Hudsons herbal soothers would be good about now.

Thinking of Mrs Hudson, and 221B brought a tear to Molly's eye. She'd been so busy trying to save Kamil, that she hadn't had time to consider her own situation too closely. She sniffed slightly and then lay down on the camp bed, resting her hip. The blankets were relatively clean, and she balled one up for a pillow and covered herself with another.

No one would even know she was missing yet. She wasn't due back at Barts until the day after tomorrow. It would be a good 48 hours before anyone would realise she was missing. Possibly longer if Sherlock didn't appear wanting a body part. Sadly she realised, there was no one to miss her. Mrs Johnson, her neighbour, would feed Toby, and probably wouldn't even notice until the food ran out, that she hadn't returned. There was no boy friend to check in with, so no one would raise the alarm early. Of the few friends that she did have, they were all used to her crazy hours, and shift patterns. It wasn't unusual for her not to contact them for weeks or months on end.

Molly was exhausted. Her captors had reluctantly let her keep her watch – she'd begged for it, insisting that she'd needed the second hand to help check Kamil's pulse. It now read 9 o'clock. It was evening, so that meant she'd been a prisoner now for 13 hours. 13 hours since she'd been grabbed from the conference she was attending.

A tear trickled slowly down her cheek – Kamil's chances of survival were slim at best. And the old man had made it very clear. If Kamil died, so did she.

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So what do you think? Shall I continue?


	2. Chapter 2

Kidnapped

Disclaimer. All characters belong to Mr Moffatt, Mr Gatiss and Mr Doyle. All are loved by me.

Time Period: set sometime after TRF, when Sherlock has returned.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Sherlock was sulking.

John tried to ignore the large Sherlock shaped mound that occupied the couch, whilst he ate his lunch. However the steadfast silence emanating from Sherlock was beginning to wear him down. The scrape of John's knife and fork across the plate in the quiet room seemed even louder than normal. John winced as the knife squeaked.

Sherlock huffed slightly. That was the only indication that Sherlock wasn't actually dead. And yes, John had actually checked he was breathing.

Sherlock had been fine when John had gone to bed last night, but when he came down for breakfast, Sherlock was sulking. John was used to Sherlock's erratic mood swings, he hadn't been unduly concerned at breakfast, but now something seemed slightly different.

Glancing at his watch, John realised he had about 20 minutes before he had to leave for work. He was working a late shift today. So, 20 minutes to try to winkle out of Sherlock what was wrong, or wait until tonight when Sherlock would have been stewing for another 8 hours.

Sighing John turned to face Sherlock. "So, do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Right," said John slowly. "It can't be a case, you managed to solve that last one from Lestrade in less than hour. So not stuck there."

"Really John, you don't need to psychoanalyse me."

"I'm not. I was just trying to work out, why you were staring at the wall."

Sherlock remained silent.

"I have to go to work, so why don't you go an annoy Lestrade again. Or go work in the lab at Barts?"

Sherlock muttered something under his breath.

John suddenly understood. "But of course Molly isn't there to pander to your every whim, is she?"

Sherlock huffed again. "Supposedly she is attending a seminar on to how to recognise even more unusual pathogical diseases in dead humans," Sherlock said scathingly.

"Don't be like that Sherlock. You know she hardly ever gets to attend these types of events, and she's been looking forward to attending this one for months. And she'll only be gone for a couple of days."

Sherlock stood up and began pacing the room, throwing his arms about. "It's not the fact that she's attending the seminar, or the fact that her being there limits my lab time. It's more the fact that she's not actually there, but off gallivanting somewhere else in the country completely."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, what are you going on about? OK, the seminar is in Oxford. I know it doesn't compete with London, but that's hardly Molly's fault."

Sherlock threw his phone to John. "Oh really? Oxford? In that case why is she in Bristol?"

John stared at the phone. It took several seconds for John to understand what he was seeing. "Oh please no. Sherlock, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't."

Sherlock stopped his pacing, sensing a problem. "What?"

"You are tracking Molly's whereabouts via her phone?! Like the Study in Pink case. Good Grief Sherlock. That's stalking."

"Nonsense. It just makes sense to know whether she's at Barts before I go there."

"You could phone her instead!" John said exasperatedly.

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't." Yelled John. "She is going to kill you when she finds out."

"The fact is, she said she was going to Oxford. Instead she went to Bristol. And now she's turned her phone off."

John massaged his temple. "Even if we ignore the bizarre fact that you are tracking Molly's whereabouts, I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation to why the tracking app said she was in Bristol. She may have had her phone stolen. Left it on the train. Or there was a change of venue. She may have just changed her mind about attending."

Sherlock looked at him and said scathingly, "Really? Molly changed her mind about attending the biggest seminar of the year? The one she'd been looking forward to?"

John sighed. "Fine." He dug his own phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his emails, selected a number, and waited for it dial.

"What are you doing?"

"Unlike some people, Molly trusts me," said John. "She gave the details of the venue, in case of emergencies. I am going to phone them, to confirm whether she registered this morning."

Sherlock huffed unhappily as John made his call.

"Hello. This is Dr John Watson. I would like to confirm that my colleague Dr Molly Hooper has checked in and registered for the pathology seminar today." It didn't take long for John's face to show that everything was not alright. "So you have no record of Dr Hooper arriving today. And she didn't call to cancel her room?" John listened for a moment longer.

John hung up the phone. "Molly didn't check in."

"See I told you," said Sherlock. "She's in Bristol."

"She might be. But the receptionist said there was an incident this morning. A delegate said he saw a young woman being abducted. But no one knew who she was, and there was no way of checking. The receptionist said they contacted the police."

Sherlock stared at John. It had to be Molly. It was the only explanation.

"My phone," Sherlock demanded quietly.

John passed Sherlock's phone over. "I'll call Lestrade," John said quietly tapping buttons on his own phone. "He can contact the police at Bristol."

"Fine. You do that." said Sherlock absent mindedly.

"What are you going to do?" said John.

"I'm contacting a higher authority," said Sherlock. His phone connected instantly "Mycroft. I need your help."

.

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Thanks very much for all your amazing reviews. I appreciate every single one.


	3. Chapter 3

Kidnapped – Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I love them. Moffatt and Gatiss are effectively writing the best fanfiction in the universe.

This story is set after TRF.

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Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship had improved somewhat over the recent months since his return to the land of the living. They might not be exchanging weekly phone calls, but at least they were speaking. Sherlock realized that this request might be pushing the boundaries a bit. But he didn't care.

"Mycroft. I need your help." said Sherlock into his mobile without preamble. "I believe that Molly has been kidnapped."

Somewhat to Sherlock's surprise Mycroft response was instantaneous. "What exactly do you need?"

Sherlock didn't know it, but Mycroft had met with Molly on two occasions, privately, to discuss the aftermath of the "fall" as they were calling it between themselves, and a further occasion when she had assisted him with a secret matter of "national importance". Dr Molly Hooper had impressed Mycroft – a rare feat. It was on one of the personal meetings that Mycroft had even apologized to her, for not recognizing her importance to Sherlock. A fact that Mycroft was sure Sherlock himself had overlooked. Until now.

"I want security camera footage from the event she was supposed to attend in Oxford, Hotel security footage, car parks, approaches, everything. I want history, cell tower information and GPS tracking coordinates from her phone," said Sherlock rapidly.

"Anything else? Top brick of the chimney perhaps?"

Sherlock was on a roll. "And I don't care if it classified as Top secret, Ultra black, or any other colorful label you want to call it. I want any information you may have to help me find her."

"I like Molly," said Mycroft. "But this is going to come at a price. You do know you will owe me for this, don't you?"

"I know," said Sherlock quietly. He walked to the other end of the flat so John wouldn't hear. "Once I find her. One job. Anything you name."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Very well. Where will you be?"

Sherlock paused. Where would he be? Scotland Yard, Baker Street or possibly Barts. Molly had been taken from Oxford, but was now possibly in Bristol. "Scotland Yard. But I may move. I'll let you know." Sherlock ended the call.

"I've spoken to Lestrade. He's waiting for us," said John, ending his own call as Sherlock entered the lounge. John had already telephoned the surgery and arranged for another doctor to cover his shift for the day. Leaving Sherlock's side right now wasn't really an option.

Sherlock appeared to be about to head to Scotland Yard still dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown, when John pushed him firmly in the direction of his bedroom. "Sherlock, get dressed. I'll get us a taxi."

Sherlock took exactly 30 seconds to change clothes. He grabbed his coat from the peg and slipped his mobile into his pocket. He headed downstairs to find John was waiting by the curb with the taxi door open.

They sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. 10 minutes or so into the journey, Sherlock said suddenly, "Speak John. You are being too quiet."

"I was just thinking - why Molly?" said John. "I wouldn't have thought she was a particularly good target for ransom. No rich husband or father."

"I see several possibilities for that," said Sherlock unhappily. "At the risk of being egotistical, she may have been taken to get to me."

John hated to admit it, but that thought had crossed his mind too. "Or?"

"She was attending a Medical conference. Somewhere where there were a lot of Doctors. Unfortunately she may just have been chosen at random, from a selection of Doctors. Perhaps someone needs her skills?"

"Someone kidnapped her to perform an autopsy?" said John incredulously.

"Not necessarily. They may not have realized her specialism. They may have wanted a Doctor or a Surgeon. Injury, organ harvesting, smuggling. All possible reasons for needing someone with surgical skills."

John felt slightly uneasy. "Yes, but Molly doesn't operate on live bodies. She …" John trailed off. Molly had shared several confidences with John as a fellow medical professional, that she wouldn't necessarily want others to know. Especially not Sherlock.

"She what?" said Sherlock impatiently.

"She prefers the quiet of the dead." John finally settled on.

John's phone suddenly pinged with a text alert. "Lestrade. The hotel has sent the video over. He's reviewing it now." His phoned pinged again. "He also says, Mycroft has arrived."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Having his brother involved in this was both a blessing and a curse. "I'll deal with Mycroft later."

They fell into silence once again. Until there was more information, everything was just speculation.

John glanced over at Sherlock, taking in his tense posture. Now he knew Molly was in danger, Sherlock's eyes glinted dangerously, and his hands were tightly clenched.

To say that John had been stunned when Sherlock had reappeared – back from the dead, was an understatement. But he had been completely floored by the knowledge that Molly had been the one that Sherlock had turned to for help. For a while John had felt betrayed by Sherlock. Hadn't Sherlock trusted John? Hadn't he thought that John could help? But as the story of what Molly had done during those long months for Sherlock; the strength she had shown, the loyalty and amazing capability of supporting Sherlock though that time, patching up of injuries and assistance in clearing his name and bringing down Moriarty's network of henchmen; John had found that he completely forgave her for her part in Sherlock's fake suicide and lies afterwards. Molly had become a good friend to him too. Someone to discuss medical diagnoses with; someone to moan to about Sherlock; someone who understood how amazing and thoroughly annoying Sherlock could be; Someone to visit the cinema with, to watch chick flicks, without complications.

Neither Molly or Sherlock had never discussed with John, the specifics of their relationship during that time. But John had noticed a change in both of them. Molly didn't stammer in front of Sherlock any more. She was more comfortable around him, and him less dismissive of her. He would offer her tea occasionally, and she would provide him with cadaver parts without him asking. There were less longing glances from Molly, and more little smiles. From Sherlock's side, there were more visits to Barts, and less late night violin music sessions. Molly had saved Sherlock and had been good for him.

Looking at the determined look on Sherlock's face, John really wasn't sure how Sherlock would react if they didn't get Molly back.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this, and an even bigger thank you if you left me a review.


	4. Chapter 4

Kidnapped – Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I love them.

This story is set after TRF.

Authors note. Sorry for the very long delay. I brought some new software to use to write the story with and found it actually made me super conscious of what I was writing and slowed me down for a while. I apologise. I do know where I am going with this story, so hopefully updates will come a little quicker now. Thanks so much to everyone that has reviewed.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Leaving John to pay the taxi driver, Sherlock bounded through the public entrance of the New Scotland Yard as though he owned the place. He silenced the desk sergeants queries with a single raised eyebrow, and was immediately buzzed through and admitted to the non public part of the station. John ran though a few seconds later, mumbling an apology to the sergeant and calling for Sherlock to wait for him.

Sherlock's arrival at New Scotland Yard always caused a disturbance. The more junior offices would try to find some pretext to visit whichever floor Sherlock was working on, trying to catch a glimpse of the man that returned from the dead. The more experienced ones would suddenly find somewhere else to be (or anywhere else), than be within range of the observant eye and sharp tongue of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock ran up the stairs two at a time, and didn't even appear out of breath as he flung open the door to the Incident room that Lestrade ran on the 4th floor.

Sherlock took in the activity within the room with a single look. He immediately saw the salt and pepper grey head of Lestrade, at the end of the room. He was standing in front of a large whiteboard, that already had several 8x10 photos stuck to it - including a couple of photos of Molly. The first image showed Molly smiling awkwardly, her large earrings catching the light - Sherlock recognised the shiny silver bow in her hair from the ill fated Christmas party at 221B. Lestrade had probably taken the picture on his camera phone. There was also a more formal picture of Molly wearing a white lab coat, downloaded from her entry on Barts website. It made her look young and fragile at the same time.

A TV screen in the corner was repeating the same small piece of film footage, a grainy image taken from a distance of a small woman being bundled into a dark van - because the image was in black and white it was hard to see what colour the van was. Several police officers were watching the footage, and yet another was trying to manipulate the images to enhance them on a computer next to the screen.

Sherlock was gratified to see there were at least a dozen police officers working in various aspects of Molly's abduction, and also pleased to find that Donovan and Andersen weren't in the room. Whilst he had no compunction in belittling them in front of everyone, right now he didn't want to waste the time. Time that would be better spent finding Molly.

John arrived at his side and puffing slightly, but waiting quietly, knowing Sherlock was assessing everything.

Lestrade spotted Sherlock and John and waved them over. Moving through the office, Sherlock saw Mycroft in Lestrade's office with Anthea, speaking intently into his mobile. Anthea was tapping away at her blackberry taking notes. Sherlock gave a small nod of greeting in Mycroft's direction, but continued towards where Lestrade stood.

The room was stiflingly warm and didn't appear to have air con. Sherlock removed his scarf and shrugged off his Belstaff coat, as he approached Lestrade. "When did he arrive?" he asked.

"About 5 minutes after John's call," said Lestrade quietly. "I presume you informed him?"

Sherlock nodded curtly. "I believe we will almost certainly require the authority and influence he has," said Sherlock unhappily. "I am however somewhat surprised he appeared in person. And so quickly too."

Lestrade lowered his voice further. "I got the feeling he is concerned about Molly. More than I would have expected."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and hesitated slightly. "A relationship?"

"Not sure exactly. It's just a feeling - there is something though, something he isn't saying." Lestrade said with feeling.

John looked at his watch. "It is currently just gone one o'clock now. When was Molly taken?"

Lestrade indicated the white board with a sketched out time line. "A few minutes past eight. We have CCTV footage showing the abduction." He waved at the TV. "She has been missing for 5 hours. It appears she caught a train to Oxford, and walked the short distance to the conference center. As she walked up through the car park, a red van - looks to be an ex post office van, pulled up. Molly spoke to the driver, and another man got out the back, grabbed her and dragged her into the back of the vehicle. The van then takes off at speed, out of the range of the camera. We have a couple of witnesses, Doctors that were also arriving for the conference. They describe two young Asian, possibly Middle eastern men."

John stared momentarily at the video. "Ford transit, can't see the number plates. Do you have any other footage?"

"Not from the conference center. The Oxford police are checking out local traffic cameras, especially the roads that head back to the motorway towards Bristol. They haven't sent me any footage yet." Lestrade sighed. "At the moment we haven't got very much. But it's early days, and we are lucky we know about the abduction so early on. I understand that ordinarily Molly would have been at the conference for a couple of days. Lucky you tried to contact her John. Or we wouldn't even know. By the way, how did you know her phone would show she was in Bristol?"

John coughed, "Yes, well least said about that the better." But John glanced in Sherlock's direction.

Lestrade looked over at Sherlock, instantly realising what John wasn't saying. "You didn't!? You were tracking her?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Perhaps instead of focusing on that aspect, can we focus on Molly's current situation."

One of Lestrade's officers approached them carrying a large map. "Sir, I have the information you wanted."

"Good Jenkins. Put it up would you?" said Lestrade.

John helped Jenkins put the map onto a spare piece of wall. Sherlock could see immediate there was a clear pattern to the dots. It showed the route that Molly's mobile had taken. The dots clearly connected Oxford to Bristol. Jenkins had also enlarged a large portion of the Bristol area, and the locating pings from Molly's phone had been plotted on the map. "You can see that the cell towers picked up Ms Hoopers phone all along the motorway. Indeed the phone only seemed to stay stationary for a short period in the Downend area of Bristol, before the signal was lost."

"I know that area a bit," said John. "I looked at a couple of medical jobs there. There are at least three big hospitals in that area. Frenchay, Blackberry and The Priory."

Lestrade rubbed his neck thoughtfully. "Then why grab Molly in Oxford. It's a long way to go."

"You are assuming the kidnappers started in Bristol, went to Oxford and then returned to Bristol," said Sherlock. "I think it more likely that they started in Oxford and went to Bristol."

Lestrade and John stared at him. "What?" said John finally.

"Your statement that it's a long way to go is correct. There are many hospitals in the local area in Bristol. Therefore there is something more - something about the actual location. If the assumption is that they needed a doctor, not specifically Molly, then the crime becomes one of convenience, or opportunity. They were already in Oxford, and needed a doctor quickly. It was a large conference and probably well advertised. They knew there would be doctors there. You said there were witnesses. Those Doctors weren't selected because there was two of them. Molly was alone, an easy target. She is also relatively small, and they wouldn't have expected her to put up a fight. They picked Molly at random. If they needed a Doctor in Oxford, then the incident that required a doctor is likely to have occurred in Oxford. Does the Oxford police have a record of any incidents or altercations late last night, or early this morning?"

"Jenkins, call Oxford Police and find out if there were any incidents last night that might have been especially violent," said Lestrade.

Jenkins hurried off to make some phone calls.

The door to Lestrade's office opened suddenly and Mycroft joined them at the white board, whilst Anthea headed towards the printer.

Mycroft smiled at John and Sherlock, but it only seemed to reach his mouth and not his eyes. "Nice to see you John. Sherlock."

"You have news. Don't keep us waiting!" Snapped Sherlock.

Mycroft sighed. "The occasional please and thank you wouldn't hurt."

"Don't keep us waiting, _please_," said Sherlock sarcastically.

Anthea returned carrying several sheets of paper from the printer. "Very well," said Mycroft. He extracted the first sheet from the bundle and passed it over. "I believe that Ms Hooper was abducted by this man, Kasuf Taha. He's a man of extremist views, and has been on our watch list for the last 18 months. No specific affiliations, or ties to other extremist groups." Lestrade added it to the whiteboard. "Kasuf's father, Ibrahim Taha," Mycroft passed another picture, "seems to have founded his own little religious cult. Nothing mainstream, very few followers, possibly around 20 or so outside of the main family unit. The main tenets seem to be that man is mighty, women are lowly and subject to man's dominance. Our last known address for Kasuf was in Oxford, keeping watch over his brother, Kamil, who is studying at Oxford. It just so happens that Ibrahim and the rest of his family live in Bristol."

Sherlock's mind whirled, the connections were there, but there were still too many variables. "You said family, Mycroft. What family?"

"Kasuf is the eldest of Ibrahim's three children at 30 years old. Then there is Kamil at 23 and Lydia 17."

Lestrade looked at the photo's. He compared the photo of Kusuf against the grainy image of the kidnapper. "I would say the likeness was good enough match to the driver. But why did you focus on him?"

"I received intelligence this morning that Kasuf and Kamil had left Oxford unexpectedly. My source didn't know where they had gone." Mycroft gazed calmly at Lestrade. "By coincidence there happened to be a gas leak in a the property next to Kasuf's. Concerned for the safety of the neighbours, a police office forced entry to check on the occupants. During the course of a search for the residents, several blood stained towels and sheets were found."

"A gas leak?" queried Lestrade.

Mycroft shrugged helplessly. "A somewhat serendipitous occurrence under the circumstances."

Lestrade just shook his head.

"So your conclusion was that Kamil was injured somehow, and rather than seek medical help at a hospital, Kasuf kidnapped Molly?" said John.

Lestrade indicated the other papers Mycroft held. "You obviously have more information there. What else do you have?"

"Ibrahim's address in Bristol, Kasuf's in Oxford, plus several further address of other cult members and places they have both visited in Oxford and Bristol. In addition I took the liberty of cross checking these against the DVLA database. Here is a list of vehicles they have owned, including currently one red ex post office van, registration number is highlighted."

"Jenkins!" roared Lestrade, and Jenkins hurried over. "Put this number plate into the camera search, and see if it was picked up at all this morning." Lestrade strode into his office, and picked up the phone. "I'm calling Bristol police. Let's get some officers to watch those addresses."

Sherlock picked up his coat, "I'm going to Bristol. Text me on route if you find anything." He turned and smiled disarmingly at Mycroft. "Brother dear, could I possibly borrow your car?"

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	5. Chapter 5

Kidnapped

Disclaimer. All characters belong to Mr Moffatt, Mr Gatiss and Mr Doyle. All are loved by me.

Time Period: set sometime after TRF, when Sherlock has returned.

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Molly was dreadfully tired, but it didn't stop her from exploring the room she was locked in. Molly head had been covered as they had brought her out of the van into the house, so she had no idea where she was. She could tell it was a basement or cellar room, she'd been marched downstairs when she arrived, and the only window in the room was above her head at the top of the room. The concrete walls and floor were cool to the touch, so more likely a cellar. Fortunately it wasn't too damp, otherwise there would be additional concerns about fungus and bacteria. There was only one door, and it was locked - a good old fashioned Victorian style mortice lock. In one corner was an old fashioned ceramic butler sink. The room was quite large, probably about 15 feet x 20 feet.

_OK. Think _She thought to herself. _Start taking mental notes._ The "W" game. Who, what, where, when, why and how. It was something her father had taught her that she found useful when considering the bodies she worked on. Perhaps it would help her focus now.

Who? Names? She knew Kamil's name and Kasuf's. Also Lydia's. There was also their father and at least 2 other women who names she didn't know.

What? What did she have that could help her? Molly looked at the meager bandages and plasters. Not good. She had a blanket and a small camp bed. There was water - that was good. She had her medical skills. Gosh this wasn't helping.

Where? Taken from Oxford - easy. But where was she now? Not 100% on that that one. She thought the journey had been about an 1.5 to 2 hours. So that covered a pretty large area of England. The road had been pretty straight, which had helped whilst she had stabilised Kamil. Therefore a motorway or possibly an long A-road. More likely motorway from Oxford, the M4. Still a large area. Given the fact she was a cellar, with a old fashioned lock door, she was possibly an old Victorian house. Not much help, Victorian Houses could be found in every town up and down the country. She strained to hear any sounds from outside, but couldn't make out anything specific. The occasional car and possibly a bird. Could be anywhere.

When? That was easy. She had her watch. It was now about 9.15pm. It could be days before she was missed, so again not much help. Suddenly she heard a clock chime. It didn't sound like it came from within the house. So outside, possibly a church? Molly wasn't particularly religious, so wasn't sure if chimes on the quarter of the house was likely to be a church clock. But it was something else to add to her mental list.

Why? She was a hostage, kidnapped to help save Kamil.

How? How was she going to escape? Almost as soon as she'd voiced the thought, it disappeared. There was no way she would be able to leave Kamil. He needed her.

She sighed, wondering if Sherlock had tried the W game. He would have figured everything out by now, could probably tell from the sound of the church bell that it was a 14th century church and only found in a particular part of the country. The lock would have been picked and he'd probably even be able to say to designed the lock. She smiled. His throw away deductions always fascinated her, except when they were about her.

She sat back on her bed. She would do well to grab whatever rest she could. The operation had been long, and she was fairly sure Kamil would have a very rough night.

Molly heard the clock chime twice more at half past and quarter to. She'd found it oddly disturbing, like it was marking the passage of her life. She'd always hated clocks that chimed or ticked. It had taken her a long time to find just the right type of wrist watch that suited her. Silent, but not digital.

It was shortly after the 9.45 chime that Molly heard Kamil whimpering. Limping over to him, she placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Kamil, you need to keep very still."

Kamil tried turning his head to see Molly and cried out in pain.

Molly's eyes filled with tears, as she pushed his shoulder gently back onto the bed. "I am so sorry about the pain, I've given you everything I can. Just breath slowly, and don't move."

Kamil cried out again louder. "It hurts."

Molly rested her hands on his chest. "I know. I know. And right now I have nothing to give you. Breath slowly, and don't move at all."

Kamil bit his lip, and managed slowly to bring his breathing under control. "What happened?" he croaked.

Molly wiped her eyes. "My name is Molly Hooper. I'm a Doctor. I don't know what you were doing, or where you were when you were hurt, but you had a gunshot wound to your stomach." Molly carefully rested her hand on his head, still not too warm. "A man, your brother I think, and your father brought me here to save you. I had to operate on your stomach, to stop the bleeding. You must keep as still as possible. You've lost a lot of blood. Really you should be in hospital. I had to do extensive surgery, and I don't want you pulling the stitches, it really won't take much to open them up and cause more bleeding. "

"You're a Doctor?"

Molly nodded, "Yes." She decided he probably wouldn't want to hear that most of her patients were already dead before she got to them.

"Kasuf brought you here?"

"Kidnapped would probably be a better description." Molly said quietly. "You were in the back of a van when they grabbed me. I treated you en route the best I could, but operated here."

"I don't remember."

"Well you were unconscious," said Molly.

There was a small sound, and suddenly the door to the room opened. Kamil's father walked in with a carrier bag. Making a beeline for Kamil, he ignored Molly. "My son," he said fondly. "You are awake."

"Yes father." Kamil said in a very strained voice. He wisely decided to remain still.

Turning to Molly, Kamil's father passed her the carried bags. "I have brought the drugs you requested. Some we could not get. Give me alternatives and I will see what I can do." He passed the bag to Molly.

"Thank you." Molly dared to speak. She started to look through the bag. It seemed that most of the packets and bottles were part used. The labels on the bottles showed they had been issued by a variety of pharmacies, all in the Bristol area, (she filed that away in her Where list), and to a variety of people. The bag did seem to contain most of the drugs she'd asked for, but not completely expectedly there was no morphine. Molly had known it was unlikely that they would have obtained that. It would raise too many questions. Unfortunately it was also the best drug to treat Kamil's pain. She quickly began to think of alternatives. Unfortunately ibuprofen and paracetamol weren't going to be enough. There was a blister pack strip of Tramadol tablets. They would help, but were not ideal.

Kamil spoke a few words to his father in a language that Molly didn't understand. The old man shrugged and replied rapidly in the same language.

Molly decided she didn't care what they were saying, and began to carefully sort the drugs into little piles on the side of Kamil's bed. Painkillers, antibiotics, and heap of dressings. She needed to give Kamil a dose of the strongest painkillers they had. It was unhealthily high, and she was concerned about the effect on his liver. But under the circumstances, he really needed them.

She saw Kamil clenching his fists, holding the pain inside. He whimpered slightly, and his father looked over at her.

"Speak woman." He ordered, sensing she was holding back.

"The pain killers here won't be strong enough for the pain. He's going to need something else, something stronger." Molly looked at Kamil. "I don't think ketamine is a good idea, it increases blood pressure and that's about the last thing he needs. I can use the Tramadol, but there isn't enough for more than 1 or 2 doses." She paused. "Look Morphine is the best thing for him, but if you can't get it," she sighed. "Can you get heroin?"

"You wish to make my son a drug addict?"

"No, nothing like that. Look the body can convert heroin into Morphine. Short term for the treatment of pain, it's not great, but it will work," said Molly firmly. "But it has to be the purest you can get. No 4 if they ask. Not brown sugar."

"And this is essential?"

"If you don't want him climbing the walls, or screaming in agony, yes." Molly confirmed.

"Please father," begged Kamil, his eyes filling with tears, as he tried not to move or cry out.

Kamil's father nodded. "I will see what I can find." He turned back to Kamil. "Rest my son. All will be well soon." He walked back to the door. "You will remain here."

The door was closed and locked again. Molly sighed with relief as he left, and rushed to Kamil's side. "OK, first things first. Pain relief."

Molly was about to administer the pain relief when the door opened again, and Lydia slipped in.

"How is he?" Lydia asked approaching Kamil's bed.

Molly rolled her eyes. "How do you think? He needs a hospital. Here help me with this." She quickly gave Kamil the painkillers and a sip of water. "Take it easy now. Try not to choke. Coughing right now would probably finish you off."

Lydia helped Molly, and when Kamil was dosed up to Molly's satisfaction Lydia pulled a small bag from her jacket pocket. "I managed to get some food. It's not much, but I was afraid of getting caught. I can't stay long."

Molly suddenly realised she hadn't eaten all day. She dived in the bag and pulled out a bread like tortilla. She quickly ate it, pausing to look at Lydia as Kamil and Lydia conversed.

"Your sister helped save your life," said Molly between bites of food. "She helped during the operation. I couldn't have managed without her."

"I have never seen someone with such skill," said Lydia smiling. "She knew exactly what to do, and explained it in a way that meant I could help."

Molly shrugged. "I'm trained, that's all."

Kamil was very slightly woozy, and slurred his speech. "What happened Lydia. I have no memory of the accident."

Lydia glanced at Molly concerned. "It's the drugs making him tired," explained Molly.

"It wasn't an accident Kamil. Kasuf told me it was the Malpi family."

Molly wandered away slightly. Enough to be able to claim not to hear what was being said, but actually close enough to hear every word.

"Mika Malpi?"

"Yes, and his brothers."

"But there was an agreement," said Kamil. "Father had arranged everything. The dowry was all arranged."

"Kasuf says they said the amount wasn't enough." Lydia began to cry. "But I know Mika would never had said that."

"You have been speaking to him, haven't you Lyd?" Kamil sighed, and winced. "Father would not be happy if he knew."

Lydia continued to cry. "Mika wanted to marry me, and now, now everything is ruined.

Molly couldn't pretend not to hear any longer. "Are you telling me that Kamil here was almost killed over a marriage deal? That man, your father, was paying a dowry to someone to marry you?"

Lydia nodded. "It had been planned for as long as I can remember. But I know Mika," she protested. "He wanted to marry me. It wasn't about the money."

Molly shook her head. Given the predicament she was in, she should be working on trying to escape. Not trying to resolve a family feud and getting in the middle of an arranged marriage. "Look Lydia. I didn't mean to upset you." She indicated to Kamil. "You helped me save your brothers life. But he is still seriously ill. He needs better drugs that those 'foraged' from well meaning family members. He needs a hospital, and a blood transfusion."

"If he needs blood, he can have some of mine," said Lydia instantly.

"It doesn't work like that," said Molly soothingly. "You may not be the right blood group. I don't have anything here to test it with, and it could kill him."

Kamil had fallen asleep.

"I have to go," said Lydia making her way to the door.

Molly stumbled after her, towards the door, managing to quickly push it closed, preventing her from leaving. Molly took a deep breath. "I know you want to help your brother. I want to help him too. And right now, the best way is with proper medical help. Look I could try to escape right now. You've left the door unlocked. But I will stay and help Kamil. But you need to help me too."

"How?" said Lydia quietly.

"Tell someone we are here. Get me help. Call the police."

Lydia shook her head. "I can't. My father will kill me."

Molly grabbed Lydia's arm. "Lydia, try to understand this," she hissed urgently. "There is at best a 10% chance of your brother making it through the night without further medical intervention. In all probability without the drugs and treatment he needs he _is _going to die. Your father has made it very clear that he will kill me if that happens. Now I promise you I will stay here to help him, but his chances improve the quicker you get me help." Molly released her and pushed her towards the door.

Lydia glanced one last time at Kamil, and left the room, locking the door behind her.

Sighing heavily, Molly limped back to Kamil. "OK Kamil. It's you and me. I've either just done the bravest thing in my life, or the stupidest."

Had she done the right thing? Should she have taken the chance to escape? She brushed a lock of hair from Kamil's forehead. She hoped she had got through to Lydia. She wasn't sure.

Molly looked back the door, and then leant down to whisper in Kamil's ear. "Kamil, I know you can't hear me, but I need to apologise for hurting you. For doing this to you. Please understand that I only did it to save your life," said Molly quietly. "I hope you can forgive me for the pain."

She closed her eyes and thought back to her graduation ceremony. Her medical school had allowed students a choice of oaths to recite. Here favourite had been the Declaration of Geneva, and at times of trouble, she had always found it's simple message to be soothing. In a quiet voice, that gradually grew stronger, she recited the oath that meant so much to her, "I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of humanity; I will give to my teachers the respect and gratitude that is their due; I will practice my profession with conscience and dignity; The health of my patient will be my first consideration; I will respect the secrets that are confided in me, even after the patient has died; I will maintain by all the means in my power, the honour and the noble traditions of the medical profession; My colleagues will be my sisters and brothers; I will not permit considerations of age, disease or disability, creed, ethnic origin, gender, nationality, political affiliation, race, sexual orientation, social standing or any other factor to intervene between my duty and my patient; I will maintain the utmost respect for human life; I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat; I make these promises solemnly, freely and upon my honour."

Placing her hand gently on Kamil's chest, over his heart, she whispered to him. "I promise you, I will do everything I can to save you. Everything."

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Thanks to everyone for the reviews or that have favourited this story. I will endeavour to write more quickly. Sorry for the delay - I haven't been well and everything - even breathing - has felt like an effort.


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